They say French is the language of love
But it’s inadequate for us
We create our own language
Written in golden flames
Of spontaneous combustion
When our smoldering passion is fueled
We speak in tongues
And with our tongues we write poetry
On each others skin
Spoken word in raw extreme
Our language is fluid, slippery
Soft as a feather brushing a naked thigh
Sharp as teeth tugging on swollen flesh
We spread applebutter erogenously
On the blank pages of untanned skin
Organic appetizers before the mains
We speak a language of sighs and silences
Of breaths inhaled
Our punctuation is done with looks and touches
Ours is a complex grammar
That brooks no shorthand
But longs for the shortstrokes of a conclusion
Our language is incendiary
Evaporating in the heat of our love
Leaving a faint trace of smoke in the air
Burnt passion etched into each look
David Trudel © 2012
createdavidt 
David! This is fantastic! More, please…
Fifty Shades of Dave perhaps? All the really good stuff is encrypted and password protected but who knows? This poem was prompted by this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=56L5ppNRyEs&feature=g-all-u (Walk Off The Earth singing Champs Elysee) I sent it to someone and suggested a weekend in Paris next spring. In her reply she asked if I spoke french, which in turn led me to this.
Perfect 😉